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Halo: Indelible Past/Chapter Thirty-Three
Venter stumbled through the hangar doors. He'd sprinted through half a dozen halls and nearly as many firefights, all the while imagining that David Kahn was drawing a bead on him from behind. But as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath, it seemed as if he had evaded that particular bogeyman. Look's like time's finally catching up to that son of a bitch, he thought without a shred of sympathy. He would never forgive that two-faced bastard for stealing Nimue after all the pains he had put into creating her. All his sales pitches about never backing out of a contract and the one time he goes back on that I'm the one who gets screwed. What a piece of shit. Still out of breath, Venter staggered further into the hangar. A lone Pelican was being prepped by its flight crew in the center of the open pad. From the looks of things, they wouldn't be waiting much longer. The crew chief looked over and saw him approach. "Hey boss!" the chief called. "You made it!" "Yeah," Venter grunted. "Somehow." The chief frowned and looked back at the door. "Wasn't Peter with you?" Venter scowled and pulled himself up into the dropship's troop bay. "He was. Guess he didn't make it." That was a damn shame, probably the worse loss Venter was taking today. He'd always regretted losing Stray all those years ago, and he'd decided a while back that Peter was a pretty good reflection of how things would have been if the kid had stuck with him. Hope Peter doesn't show up in fifteen years looking for my head. He'd also be losing Diana with Peter. Too bad, but it wasn't as if he'd even known he had her back until a few days ago. All told, he counted himself lucky to be walking away from this clusterfuck at all. The crew chief climbed in after him, followed by an ashen-faced soldier. As the chief headed back into cockpit, the soldier slumped down beside Venter. Without saying a word, he hugged his rifle close to his chest and stared straight ahead. From the looks of things, they wouldn't be taking on any more passengers. Venter leaned back and closed his eyes. A crazy end to a crazy job. He'd have to keep a low profile for a few years now. The UNSC would be after him now as well as the Sangheili, and then there was whoever had hired Kahn to take him out. All told, the Syndicate couldn't be trusted to cover for him anymore. He'd have to head back to whatever was left of the URF. The thought made Venter smile. The insurrection was a mess, but a guy like him could whip it back into shape. The cause just needed a new leader, and the man who had brought chaos to Sanghelios, not to mention eluded a Spartan team and David Kahn at the same time, might very well be the right candidate. "OK," the chief announced over the intercom as the Pelican's engines hummed to life. "I'm taking us out. Hold onto something folks, 'cause it's going to be a bumpy ride up into orbit--" "No!" Venter and the soldier turned to see a lone figure sprinting across the floor. Venter didn't even need to see the bloodstained jumpsuit or the bandaged eye to know exactly who it was. "Stray," he snarled. What the hell is up with this kid? "Don't just sit there," he barked at the soldier. "Shoot him!" They both scrambled up. Venter raised his pistol while the soldier took unsteady aim with his rifle. Stray just whipped up a submachine gun and sprayed wildly into the troop bay. Venter jerked back, but the soldier next to him wasn't so lucky. He cried out and fell to the bay floor, clutching his neck as blood streamed through his fingers. "Get us out of here!" he screamed back at the cockpit. He stretched out his hand for the dying soldier's assault rifle as the Pelican lurched up off the floor and drifted towards the small opening in the wall. In a moment, there would be nothing Stray could do but watch them sail away. The kid's legs pounded against the ground as he sped up. The submachine gun clattered to the floor as he dropped it, pumping his arms wildly back and forth. Like a racer on the home stretch, he sprinted for the departing Pelican. Venter yanked the rifle up and fired, but the moving dropship threw his shots wide. He caught one last glimpse of Stray's burning eye before the kid drew level and vanished under the troop bay's edge. A moment later, an organic and prosthetic hand each came up out of nowhere and seized hold of the edge. Venter slammed the rifle butt down on the organic hand, knocking its hold away, but the prosthetic hand remained firmly clamped around the ledge. With a scream of effort that could be heard over even the Pelican's gusting engines, Stray swung himself up and over into the troop bay. His body collided with Venter, sending them sprawling further into the dropship. Venter felt the rifle leave his hands and reached instead for the knife on his combat vest. Stray's metal hand clamped onto his face as the kid kicked and gouged wherever he could. The floor beneath them tilted and began to give way as the Pelican began gaining altitude. Venter rolled away from his attacker and grabbed hold of a seat for dear life. On the other side of the bay, Stray had done the same. The dead soldier's body caught on one of the handholds beside the kid and hung beside him like a macabre puppet. Venter gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the seat as the Pelican soared through Sanghelios's sky. ** The Reaper trudged across the dark-hued grass, his assault rifle and a survival pack slung over the back of his armor. It hadn't been easy getting out of the mine and he'd needed to kill more than a few warriors who had gotten in his way, but his efforts had brought him out through a small service tunnel that the attacking forces had apparently forgotten about. He could see Phantoms and Banshees patrolling the sky all around the facility, but his armor was designed to avoid the sensory gear of most aerial vehicles. None of their systems would pick him up, and even if a warrior did happen to glance out the side of a Phantom he would have overlooked the Reaper completely. The man's armor was designed to blend in to its surroundings, and at present it had assumed a reddish tinge similar to the grass beneath it. It was a shame that there hadn't been time to help some of the other rebels get out. Venter and his inner circle had been tiresome, but there had been plenty skilled commandos and technicians amongst the HLF forces. But with as tight a net as the Sangheili had cast about the facility, the Reaper had been hard pressed making away with just his own person intact. He shook his head regretfully at the thought of the soldiers dying within the facility. He knew all too well what it felt like to be utterly cut off, surrounded by an endless enemy force with no hope of escape. The thought of watching Sangheili butcher his friends and comrades all around him brought a bitter twist to his mouth. One day, they'll answer for all of it, he reminded himself. More than 23 billion souls had burned at the Sangheili's direction, and no amount of treaties or empty words of repentance could ever make up for that. One day we'll never have to fear them again. Regardless of his escape, he was in for a rough few weeks. Getting off planet would be hellish enough without the days he would have to spend hiking in search of a city that even had a space port. The regular criminal elements that normally could have been bribed into smuggling him offworld would balk at the idea of a human fleeing their planet in wake of the carnage the HLF had wrought. In all likelihood he'd need to stow away on some transport ship and hope the security was lax enough for him to go undetected the entire trip. But it was nothing he hadn't done before. The Reaper was used to adapting to impossible situations; now that the facility was behind him, escaping Sanghelios itself would be little more than a temporary inconvenience. He patted the pouch on his belt that contained his research data. Your deaths weren't in vain, he promised the men and women he had left behind. This operation gave me a decade's worth of experiments and data. I won't let it go to waste. A familiar engine noise made him pause and turn back towards the facility. A lone Pelican rose from one of the hangar entrances. It rose for a moment, then dropped off sharply and sped away at a low altitude. The pilot was clearly hoping to skirt under the Sangheili air patrols rather than make a bigger target of itself by blasting immediately towards the upper atmosphere. It was a valiant effort, but the Reaper could already envision how the breakout would play out. Two Banshees broke formation and soared after the fleeing dropship. For a few moments the Pelican weaved through their streams of plasma fire, but then one of the engines caught and sent the dropship tumbling end over end through the sky. The Reaper raised his hand in a salute as the burning dropship vanished over a line of hills. He held the position for several seconds before lowering his arm and continuing his slow journey into the sunset. ** The stricken Pelican cleared the hill line, then blew past a small forest before impacting just beside a meandering river. It carved a brutal trench in the ground as its engine fires spread to the cockpit and troop bay. With a grinding crunch, its skid was finally broken by a cluster of boulders the local farmers had cleared away from their crop lands. Off beneath the tree line, a small band of feline predators looked up from their latest kill. They observed the distantly burning dropship with more curiosity than fear, and after several moments the female leader of the hunting party growled and led her fellow hunters off towards the river. The pride trotted after her cautiously as the Pelican continued to burn. The dropship's late pilot had never closed the troop bay, an oversight that saved Simon's life. He staggered out of the flames and smoke, making it a few feet from the crash before falling down onto all fours. His prosthetic hand held the knife he'd grabbed from the rebel he'd killed as the Pelican made its final descent. His head spun as he gasped for breath. His body was so numb with pain that he could have been on fire and never realized it. His limbs could barely hold his body up; all he wanted to do now was lie down in the dirt and close his eyes. "Stray!" He blinked, looking about the smoke for whoever was calling for him. "Stray, get up!" A figure emerged from the smoke. It pushed through the dark clouds and revealed itself to be Emily. Clad in her grimy clothes and clutching a rifle in her dirty hands, she knelt beside him. "Stray, you have to move!" He looked up at her and opened his mouth to say something. To thank her, to apologize, to tell her... "Stray, please." She shook him. He felt her hand on his shoulder, saw the determination in her eyes as she tried to pull him to his feet. It was the determination that had kept Rat Pack together as Mamore burned around them. Simon had seen that determination waver and crumble as their friends had been slaughtered left and right, but now it was as strong as it ever was. His breathing slowed and he smiled as he looked up at her grubby face. This way of dying's not so bad... whispered a distant thought in the back of his head. Kind of like going to sleep... "Stray, I love you!" His eye jerked back open, its vision clearing in time to see another figure stagger out of the ruined Pelican. Emily vanished as Venter limped towards him, pistol in hand. His face and clothing were scorched and bloody, but his eyes were alert and furious. "You're tough, Stray," he growled, fumbling with the pistol in his hands. "But you're not bulletproof." Simon rolled to the side as a shot kicked up dirt where his head had been a moment before. Leaping to his feet, he charged the man who had once been like his father. Batting the gun aside, he slashed at Venter's throat. The rebel parried with his free hand and slammed the pistol into Simon's face. Jerking his head back, Simon brought it in to butt Venter square in the nose. The insurrectionist reeled, but then grabbed hold of Simon's shoulder and kneed him in the gut. He couldn't fall, not while Venter still had the gun. Simon leaned in and sank his teeth into Venter's shoulder, biting down until he could feel blood running through his mouth. Venter howled and tried to shake him loose, but Simon just bit down harder as he tried to find an opening for his knife. With a snarl of pain, Venter pushed Simon away. Simon felt a chunk of flesh give way in his mouth; he spat it out and came on once again. This time he knocked the pistol out of his former mentor's hands, but his stab was blocked yet again. Pulling back, he aimed another stab at Venter's face. The rebel's palm shot up and intercepted the blade, which tore clean through his hand. Venter's face contorted in agony, but he closed the bleeding hand around Simon's and clamped down hard. Their free hands traded a flurry of blows. Every time Simon struck, he aimed for the face or neck. All he needed was to wrap his fingers around Venter's throat and never let go. But it was Venter who finally made contact. His fist snaked in and struck Simon in his remaining eye. Momentarily blinded, the battered Spartan stumbled backwards and lost his grip on the knife. Venter's next kick sent him sprawling down at the edge of the river. He looked up just as Venter pulled the knife from his palm and switched it to his uninjured hand. Simon staggered upright, but Venter was already on top of him. Simon felt the knife lodge in his abdomen as they fell together into the water. Simon struggled against the force of the current. Something was forcing him down, but he couldn't tell if it was Venter or just the force of the water. He kicked and fought, but his efforts just pushed him down even further. He hadn't had the chance to take a breath before falling in; his lungs were already starting to cry out for air. This is it, he realized as his windmilling arms slowed. I'm done. It wasn't just the water. His body was at its limit. He couldn't possibly push it any further than it had already gone. As the current buffeted him about, he closed his eyes. His struggles ceased; there was no point in causing himself any more pain. All thoughts of Venter and the fight faded away. In his mind's eye, Simon saw Emily, then Cassandra. Cassandra. I hurt you so much, didn't I? You were right all along, and I never saw it. I should have come with you when I had the chance. There was no point to any of this. We had the chance to be happy, you and me, and I let it get away, like always. I really am a dumbass. And I never told you just how much... how much... As the last of the air left his lungs, a sudden tightness coiled around Simon's gut. Cassandra's face washed away, replaced by a burning, unquenchable fury. How much do I have to suffer? I've endured so much, and now I just die here? After coming so far, struggling for so long? What the hell have I been fighting for? What the hell have I been living for? With a final desperate burst of strength, he kicked his legs and beat his arms. He pushed himself up, up and out of the water. Gasping for breath, he scrambled towards the shore and staggered back up onto dry land. Venter was nowhere to be seen. He took in the burning Pelican wreckage; the current had only washed him a few yards away from it. Off to the side sat a small pride of felines. They watched Simon curiously, but didn't make a move for him. He couldn't remember what the Sangheili called them, but he recalled Tuka telling him about what to do if he were ever cornered by one of their prides. The problem was, he couldn't remember whatever the hell it was Tuka had said. He was so busy splashing out of the river that he didn't even hear the splash behind him. Just as he reached the shore, something stung him in the back and forced him to his knees. He tried to get up but his body was suddenly frozen, unable to do anything but twitch and jerk as Venter stepped past him. "Feeling queazy, Stray?" he panted. "Good. I just shot you full of poison. One of the Reaper's little cocktails. I almost forgot I had it on me." He tossed an empty syringe into the grass and strode over to retrieve his pistol. "It's supposed to paralyze the squid-heads," he called over his shoulder. "I really don't know what it'll do to you, but I don't think it's enough to kill you." He smiled grimly and strode back over to Simon, pistol in hand. "Don't worry though. I'll handle that myself." He racked the weapon's slide. The knife was still in his belly. Simon strained against his quivering body, but it was no use. His muscles weren't responding at all. The only thing that could move... His prosthetic arm. Just as Venter pressed the barrel agains the side of his head, Simon's metal hand tore the knife from his chest and slashed Venter across the gut. The rebel gasped and doubled over, blood spilling down his front. "You little fuck," he wheezed. "Do you really think this cut's gonna kill me?" "No," Simon managed to gasp back. "But they will." A terrible snarling din filled the air. Venter spun in time to see the entire pride bearing down on him, finally overwhelmed by the renewed scent of blood filling the air. Venter got the gun up in time to bring down one, then two, and then the pride's leader was on top of him. Simon fell backwards into the grass as snarls and screams cut through the air around him. The pistol fired once more, then never fired again. The screaming ended shortly after, but while it lasted it was the sweetest thing Simon had ever heard. He'd done it. The man who had haunted his life for so long was gone. No more nightmares, no more memories. It was over. "You see, Emily?" he whispered. "I've avenged you." Now he could finally close his eye. There was no need to struggle anymore. His body went utterly limp, released from all the hate and pain that had driven it so far and through so much. There was nothing left to do but lie back and let the warmth from the setting sun dance across his face. Simon thought of Emily and Rat Pack one last time, then let them fall away into the shadows. The past was done. It couldn't hurt him anymore. It couldn't hurt him ever again. Some time later, the pride finished with their kill and ambled over to inspect the other body. The leader sniffed at Simon's prone form, but let out a disappointed chuffle and turned to lead the pride away. She knew the smell of tainted meat well, and this one's blood smelled unnatural and dangerous. They left him there in the grass and vanished into the forest. Darkness fell soon after. The Pelican's fires had burnt themselves out, leaving only the blackened hull and the gash it had carved with its landing. Simon lay a few yards away, eye closed, still not moving. His mouth was curved in a genuine smile, his face softened in an expression of serene peace. The night wore on. Category:Actene